Matchmaking for a difficult man
by Obviously I'm Sherlocked
Summary: "I can find you a flat mate," he shrugged, "I'm on my lunch break in a few minutes. I can scout around for someone!" he chuckled at the idea. The detective let out an amused laugh. Ever wonder about the conversation between Sherlock and Mike in the lab before 'A study in pink?


Hello! yes, yes...i know i haven't been updating my account for AGES and I'm sorry. but writing is more of a hobby so i can only properly write when i feel in 'the mood'!  
anyway! i REALLY hope you like this, it was a prompt from 'underhelios' on Tumblr.  
Enjoy! (oh, and don't forget to leave comments, that would make a woman very happy!)

"No, no, _NO_!" A voice, that Mike had almost forgotten was there, growled before launching a glass slide across the lab. Stamford nearly swallowed his tongue as he ducked, hearing the slide whistle over his head and shatter against the far wall.

"BLOODY HELL SHERLOCK! ANOTHER ONE?" he roared, clambering back onto his seat and re-adjusting his glasses. He noticed his obscure friend look down at his shoes in remorse and the retired army medic softened his voice slightly and added, "Look, I understand these past few weeks have not been…the _best_ for you-"

"Mike, be so kind and shut up, I have a headache as it is," The detective interrupted sharply as he slunk back onto his stool, placing his head onto his hands for a brief moment and letting out a melancholy sigh.

Mike sieved through his mind for something to say that wasn't _'fuck you'_ but in the end he thought it best to follow Sherlock's order and shut up. He didn't lie however, it's true that the recent weeks had been playing what can only be described as 'havoc' on the sleuth's mind and Mike didn't have to be an expert to see that.

Another explosion of ill temper from the detective broke Mike away from his thoughts just in time to witness a stool being booted across the room. Stamford gazed in utter shock at his friend who was now meekly hobbling around on one leg in silent agony. The doctor almost spoilt it all by laughing.

"That's _your_ fault!" he grinned as Sherlock braced himself against the wall and threw the stool a venomous look.

"It was offending me with it inability to stand on the floor _without_ wobbling," he spat.

The detective managed to pull himself together and, with another sigh, let himself slide down the wall and settle on the floor, the cold seeped through his suit trousers and sent a chill along his back. "So…" he murmured from behind the table, out of Mike's line of sight. "Interesting day, was it?"

His pathetic attempts at small talk bought a small smile to Mike's face, "I should be asking _you_ that question" he chuckled and heard a quiet _'hm'_ in return.

Mike waited.

A despairing sigh drifted from the other side of the table and it was followed by a silence. But the kind of silence where you know someone is trying to say something. It's the kind of silence where the person's struggling to form words.

"I'm listening," Mike spoke clearly, hearing it rebound slightly in the hushed lab.

Molly wouldn't be happy. The lab was a mess. Broken glass twinkled on the floor, chemicals and substances spread over the work tops and now a very unhappy looking stool lay crumpled in one corner. It was obvious the see that Sherlock had been having outbursts all day and mike was surprised he hadn't harmed_ himself_.

"221b Baker Street" the detective spoke at last, his voice rich and careful. Mike's eyebrows knitted together and he frowned,

"Baker Street?"

"Yes. Baker Street. That's where I'll be living now," he retorted sourly as if he thought Mike was the stupidest man he had ever heard of (and he probably did).

"Oh! That's lovely, Sherlock well done!" Stamford practically beamed. Finally, the detective had found a place to stay. It made a change from sleeping rough or the drug dens.

"Is it?" the sleuth replied with a petty sort of anger and even though Mike couldn't see his face he knew he would be pouting.

"Of course it is Sherlock! You have a place to stay now," he could feel his words practically die on his tongue as he realised that Sherlock was actually upset. The 'Great Sherlock Holmes', complicated as he was, was actually genuinely upset. Mike sighed and said, "Look, Sherlock. Tell me what's wrong. You can trust me."

Mike was answered with a long silence. Maybe he was pushing too far, after all, this _was_ Sherlock Holmes. Why would he bother to tell Mike how he was feeling?

The silence stretched out and just as Mike was about to give up and change the subject a small, wavering voice barely whispered,

"I…I'm lonely, Mike."

Stamford's mouth fell open and it took him a good few minutes to make a connection between those words and the sleuth's voice.

"I've never been this lonely before. I don't know why I feel it now of all times," Holmes breathed and hesitated. "I guess…" he paused "Well, I'm getting older now and I suppose…I just" the sleuth let out a little noise of exasperation, "Oh, I don't know!" he despaired.

There was another short silence but Mike listened intently.

"You _know_ I'm rubbish with these sorts of things" His rich voice mumbled, sounding muffled and Mike imagined he'd rested his head on his knees.

After another period of hush Stamford assumed that was all the detective had to say. He had listened to everything, nodding and considering every word and, in truth, felt honoured. It's not every day you get heartfelt confessions from the moody detective.

Thinking it over, the army doctor desperately tried to formulate some ideas to help his poor friend. What could he do? It seemed the growing stillness in the room was becoming uncomfortable and Mike could hear Sherlock crunching some glass under his shoe, absent minded. Think Mike, _think_!

"What about a flat mate?" he suggested, filling the silence in the lab. Mike heard a low, mocking laugh from the detective and felt slightly insulted. "What?" He seethed, "It's a perfectly reasonable idea!"

A curly head popped up from behind the table and rested his chin on the work top giving Mike a condescending look, raising an eyebrow. "Mike, _really_?" He teased, "You know I'm a hard man to live with," he purred. Over all Mike thought he didn't seem displeased with the idea.

"I can find you a flat mate," he shrugged, "I'm on my lunch break in a few minutes. I can scout around for someone!" he chuckled at the idea.

The detective let out an amused laugh and slipped back behind the table, "I bet I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for."

Mike smiled and took that as a challenge.

Feeling the first few rumbles of hunger Stamford checked his watch and smiled "Alright, I'm off. See you after lunch then," he announced, rising from his stool and wandering around to the side of the table occupied by Sherlock who looked up at him in childish wonder, a smile leaked onto his lips.

"Have fun _match-making_," he teased and Mike laughed,

"Only if you get this place cleaned up before I get back, okay?" he threw Sherlock a serious look before heading for the door, only having enough time to hear the detective groan before it shut.

Ta-da! really hope you enjoyed that!  
please let me know what you thought in the comments or you can leave me feedback on my Tumblr 'letsplaymurder'!  
thank you for reading!  
xxx


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